Princes of the Undead

Part 12

---/---

This was not her bed, that this was far nicer than her bed, was the second thought that ran through Agatha Van Helsing's brain. That she was alone, and fortunately still clothed, were the third and fourth.

Rolling on to her back, Agatha rubbed her palms against the sheets. They felt like the softest fabric, and the dark red colour, so dark they were almost black, meant the dye was just as expensive. So, someone who liked luxury, and had money, and who was she kidding, there was only one person whose bed this could be.

The only question that remained in Agatha's mind, was what the hell was she doing in it? Clothed, her sub conscious added, only for that thought to be mercilessly squashed.

Then the memories of helping Lucy began to resurface, everything after that was a blur. Like a dream she couldn't quite remember. Yet she felt safe and happy, and Agatha felt no need to rush from this decadently comfortable bed. No matter what had happened, or how she had ended up here; Agatha wasn't in any danger, of that she was certain.

Still she couldn't stay here. This wasn't her bed, and god knows how insufferable Dracula would be, if he came in and found her lazing about like this. What if he tried to join her? No, she was getting up now, definitely getting up now.

Pulling back the thick duvet, Agatha swung slightly shaking legs over the side of the bed. Her feet were bare, poking out of the bottom of her skinny jeans, the simple white T-shirt she was wearing, smelt less than fresh and was creased to high heaven. God knows how long she had been wearing it.

Still it was better this, than waking up in other clothes, and wondering who had put her into them. Or wondering if he had run his hands over her naked body, touched her breasts and fing...

Shaking that thought firmly away. Agatha could only wonder if she had suffered some sort of brain injury.

She was not the sort of woman, to lay around in a man's bed, fantasising about him taking advantage of her; she was most definitely not! That thought was stomped down on too, even if her brain seemed determined to protest, and supply one or two images, of a rather ruggedly scruffy Dracula, with his mouth on her...

No not thinking about it...not thinking about it.

Definitely a brain injury.

Her feet held her weight, even if she did feel a little light headed. There were stairs in front of her, and two doors off to her right. Guessing one would be a bathroom, Agatha staggered in that direction. Relieved when her first guess was right, and the door opened onto an opulent bathroom. All marble and lacking any reflective surfaces.

Reaching the sink, Agatha switched on the water flow, cupping the water to rinse out her mouth, which tasted like something had died it, before caving to the inevitable and borrowing Dracula's toothbrush. Then when her mouth almost felt normal again, she scrubbed the cold water over her skin. Relieved when that helped to wake her up properly.

It was then that she noticed the small pile of clothes folded up on the toilet seat, a pair of simple dark sweat pants, a lighter grey t-shirt and a matching zippy hoody. There were even a light grey lacy bra and brief set to match. So at least she would be coordinated, casual but elegantly so. A pair of towels had been laid out by the large walk in shower, along with some toiletries. Flipping the lid on the shower gel, Agatha breathed in the scent of jasmine and lilacs...lovely...and well a shower did seem like a good idea.

Stripping off her old clothes, she stepped into the shower, fumbling for the controls, and getting the settings right, after a little trial and error. Dracula had supplied her with shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, even body lotion, which was a definite step up, on the last time she had been his guest. The warm spray felt wonderful, and Agatha luxuriated in the natural rainfall setting; something far too fancy for her own far more modest apartment.